Tales of a Death Knight
by mdlc1783
Summary: The Highlord of the Ebon Blade, seeking out his former homeland in search of something dear to him. In a world where every battle is a hardfought one, will he be able to find temporary respite in his travels? (Part 1 2)
1. Chapter 1

Interlude I

Lordaeron was looking dreary this evening. Indeed, Lordaeron looked dreary most of the time. After the events of the Scourge War, it had become known under a new name, the Plaguelands. Jirak, however, found himself unable to settle in that reality. While he was forced to begrudgingly accept the new state of his former nation, the old names still meant a lot to him. In his mind there was no such thing as the Plaguelands, only Lordaeron sounded true. The only time he would give up his nostalgia would be during his dealings with the Forsaken in the region, as they were prone to bitterness and anger when reminded of that which they had lost.

Jirak had not come to former Lordaeron to barter with the unliving denizens of the land, however. Because no matter how tainted the land might be, how ravaged its hovels, how plagued its wildlife, this was still his former home. Many might say that there was nothing left here for those that abandoned the region long ago, but those that once lived there had a different perspective, and Jirak shared in that perspective. Fragments of his former existence could still be found here and there, and they echoed through his mind like footsteps, regularly urging him to halt and look over his shoulder. When he was there, it comforted him. When he was not, it haunted him instead.

Apart from the occasional bird flying in and out of the rotten trees that surrounded his path, Jirak was devoid of any real company. It had been a conscious decision. The burden of leading the confrontation with the Legion weighed heavily on Jirak, and he knew that the real conflict had yet to begin. He needed to gather his thoughts before he could find the answers he sought. This had proven rather difficult, not in the least regarding his visit to Icecrown. Perhaps here, he thought, he could make an effort to contemplate before beginning to strategize. A foreboding feeling warned him to make haste.

Walking down the road to Light's Hope Chapel, the scenery began to shift continuously. The druids of the Cenarion Circle and paladins of the Silver Hand had made great gains in growing and repopulating the once dense forests of Eastern Lordaeron. From time to time small patches of green grass and pockets of small animals could be seen, only to be crudely replaced by sightings of the red, rotten plains he had become so familiar with over the years as he walked further. _One day, it will be as it once was._ While the largest parts of the land were abandoned, the idea of families making their home here in the future was able to bring a smile to Jirak's face. _That is why we fight._

As he approached the chapel, Jirak started to distinguish a large monument that was erected in honour of the great paladin Tirion Fordring. It had been around for a few years, but this was the first time Jirak paid a visit to the chapel after his death. Upon entering the courtyard of the paladin stronghold, he noticed a difference. The cold white stone now looked vibrant, and it radiated a sense of determination that seemed to rub off on the silver-plated guards stationed there. If there was anyone foolish enough to lay siege to the Chapel once more, they might experience having an easier time destroying Argus. Jirak had not come to conquer, however. The defenders greeted him with a solemn nod. They knew why he was there.

The graveyard behind the Chapel was neatly kept. Unlike many of the other burial grounds that Jirak had seen, this one showed no signs of deterioration. The gravestones still stood firm, instilling more of a sense of honour than one of mourning in those that walked into the garden of the dead. After walking through the first few rows, Jirak found what he had been looking for. He kneeled down before a plain, grey gravestone. The only markings to be found on it formed the name of the deceased. _In memory of Lily Isaac._ Jirak grabbed his bag and carefully pulled a dry plant out of it. Attached to it was a small piece of parchment. It faced upwards as Jirak laid it on the grave. _Though this rose is withered, it has not lost its meaning. Though my heart is withered, it still beats for you._


	2. Chapter 2

"The Dark Lady will see you now, Highlord."

Jirak followed the undead guard through the sewers of the Undercity, to the room where Sylvanas had made her abode. Green slime flowed through the canals that ran through the middle of the outer city ring, giving surrounding area a sickly green atmosphere. The ground that he walked on was stained with the same filthy substance, occasionally making his feet feel sticky as he followed his guide. Torches were set up along the walls, but the light they emanated seemed cold, as if it fed on warmth rather than radiate it through the eerie halls and corridors. _What a miserable place,_ Jirak thought to himself.

When they had freed themselves from the Scourge and returned to Lordaeron, the Forsaken had not tried to emulate the splendour that their former kingdom once held. Instead, they built hovels upon the ruins of palaces and sewers below the greatest of the cities. Perhaps it was their way of unshackling themselves from their past, their mourning and spite turned outward. Before visiting the Undercity for the first time, Jirak wondered why the Forsaken were incapable of rising above the powers that had toyed with them. When he first walked into the gates of the old Capital, however, he finally understood. They were not quietly skulking away in the corners of the world, damning their misfortune. Instead of removing themselves from that which had destroyed their lives, they empowered themselves with it. It was an unsettling, yet powerful sight.

"We are here, _Highlord._ The Dark Lady has requested your brevity. She does not want to be kept for too long."

They had stopped in front of what seemed to be another slime-stained wall. There was a slightly sarcastic undertone to be heard as the guard mentioned Jirak's title. He knew the Forsaken were not easily impressed, but he had not expected this tone from a guard. An uncomfortable feeling crept up inside him. As he was deciding on what to say to Sylvanas, two parts of a hidden, large door in front of him started moving, revealing a small hallway leading to a bigger chamber.

"Highlord. Enter, so that we may speak."

Sylvanas possessed a very calm and calculated voice. From a distance, it boomed and echoed through the chamber, even intimidating Jirak slightly. He heard authority, but also the small bolts of spite breaching her vocal chords. Her appearance followed the same pattern. She had donned what could have been ranger clothing, if it were not for the dark colouring. Standing far away from her it seemed as if she was still a mighty elven general, her posture proud, not revealing any weaknesses.

Her figure started to change when he came up close to her. Patches of rotten skin, a dark aura, and tired eyes appeared, shattering the illusion of an invincible leader. There was no doubt that Sylvanas was powerful, but even she could not undo her own undeath. Jirak exchanged a glance with Sylvanas. He nodded silently to himself. _She knows._

"What is it you seek, Highlord?" Sylvanas asked. Her head was slightly tilted, as if she was assessing the motives that were at play. Jirak slowly opened his mouth. "We have not met before, Lady Windrunner. I am the new Highlord of the Ebon Blade. I have come here to negotiate the release of one of my subjects." The Banshee Queen's eyes lit up very briefly upon hearing her own name. Her expression quickly moulded back into a form of tense indifference. "Yes, the Blood Elf. And you are aware of the reason for his imprisonment, Highlord?" Jirak did not break his glance. "I sympathise with your reasoning, my lady, but he would be a valuable asset against the Legion. Whatever setbacks your forces suffered because of his actions would be repaid a thousand fold if he were able to-" He was interrupted violently. "My armies almost had to withdraw from Andorhal because of that moronic order of yours. Without the meddling of your precious Thassarian I could have avoided many more losses. He has himself to thank for this, Highlord." She spat out those last words, looking visibly angered by the thought of Koltira's betrayal.

Jirak started to lose his patience as well. He had not come to hear no. "Lady Windrunner, I implore you. We need all the strength we can get when the Legion begins its full assault on our world. Time is precious, I cannot waste it bickering over past grievances." Sylvanas did not take his tone lightly. She made a quick gesture with her right arm. "Guards, show our guest out." Then she turned to him once more. "This conversation is over. I understand that you must look after your people, but so do I." Jirak tried to retort, but the Banshee Queen had no more interest in him. She simply left the room via a small corridor behind her, disappearing as she stepped inside. He wanted to go after her and secure Koltira's freedom, but he knew that would only seal his own fate. He turned around slowly and left the room accompanied by Sylvanas's guards.

"You were right, lady Windrunner. I _will_ look after my people."

* * *

Thanks to everyone who's reading this. This is one of my very first writing projects and I enjoy sharing it with you all. Do not hesitate to provide feedback if you so desire!


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